Perceval was in his mother's chapel, where he heard mass; and when the
mass was sung, his sister said: "Fair brother, see here the most holy
cloth that I brought from the chapel of the Grave-yard Perilous. Kiss
it and touch it with your face, for a holy hermit told me that never
should our land be conquered back until such time as you should have
hereof."
Perceval kisseth it, then toucheth his eyes and face therewith.
Afterward he goeth to arm him, and the four knights with him; then he
issueth forth of the chamber and mounteth on his horse, then goeth out
of the gateway like a lion unchained. He sitteth on a tall horse all
covered. He cometh nigh the eight knights that were all armed, man and
horse, and asketh them what folk they be and what they seek, and they
say that they are enemies of the Widow Lady and her son.
"Then you do I defy!" saith Perceval.
He cometh to them a great run, and the four knights with him, and each
one overthroweth his own man so roughly that either he is wounded in
his body or maimed of arm or leg. The rest held the melly to the
utmost they might endure. Perceval made take them and bring to the
castle, and the other five that they had overthrown. The Lord of the
Moors was come to shoot with a bow, and he heard the noise of the
knights, and cometh thitherward a great gallop all armed.
"Sir," saith one of the old knights to Perceval, "Look! here is the
Lord of the Moors coming, that hath reft your mother of her land and
slain her men. Of him will it be good to take vengeance. See, how
boldly he cometh."
Perceval looketh on him as he that loveth him not, and cometh toward
him as hard as his horse may carry him, and smiteth him right through
the breast so strongly that he beareth to the ground him and his horse
together all in a heap. He alighteth to the ground and draweth his
sword.
"How?" saith the Lord of the Moors, "Would you then slay me and put me
in worse plight than I am?"
"By my head," saith Perceval, "No, nor so swiftly, but I will slay you
enough, betimes!"
"So it seemeth you," saith the Lord of the Moors, "But it shall not be
yet!"
He leapeth up on his feet and runneth on Perceval, sword drawn, as one
that fain would harm him if he might. But Perceval defendeth himself
as good knight should, and giveth such a buffet at the outset as
smiteth off his arm together with his sword. The knights that came
after fled back all discomfited when they saw their lord wounded. And
Perceval made lift him on a horse and carry him to the castle and
presenteth him to his mother.
"Lady," saith he, "See here the Lord of the Moors! Well might you
expect him eftsoons, sith that you were to have yielded him up your
castle the day after to-morrow!"